


The Weather Outside (Under My Skin)

by lalalaney



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brush your teeth after this, Canon, F/M, Fluff, Hinny, It'll rot your teeth, Oneshot, it's that sweet, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalaney/pseuds/lalalaney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold winter's night after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Ginny rekindle their relationship over some old jazz and a candle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weather Outside (Under My Skin)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [varrylarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/varrylarry/gifts).



> Dedicated to the love of my life and my beautiful best friend, my very amazing beta.

Growing up in a cupboard truly puts one’s life into perspective. You are merely a small, annoying speck in a large house, in an even larger town, in a much larger world. Growing up under the stairs makes the outdoors a delicacy. What some might take for granted, Harry did not. The sight of softly falling snow perceived safely behind thick-panelled glass, the sound of torrential rain, was rarely experienced in safety and comfortable solitude. 

As large snowflakes fell from clouds above the burrow, Harry quietly made his way through the house to the living room. The room smelled of warmth, cinnamon and marshmallow, and the mismatched couches were covered in newly (poorly) knitted blankets; it had been Molly’s mission to finally teach Fleur to knit this winter. At nearly midnight, all the visitors young, or old enough to sleep were comfortably asleep, and all those too rowdy had gone to Diagon Alley to drink liquor and celebrate their togetherness. Harry could see her curled on an armchair with a heavy book balancing on her knees. Her hair had grown in the past year, and it gracefully teased the apex of her chest. She brushed her red hair from her face delicately and started when she noticed Harry standing in the room. She exhaled sharply and smiled. 

“I figured you’d be out with everyone else,” she said. 

“Too tired,” Harry replied. “Why did you stay?” 

Ginny shrugged. This is how it had been. Since May, no conversation with duration of longer than a few minutes. Fleeting eye contact, and rushes to be in separate rooms as soon as he entered the room. She was always busy, always distracted, and then she was gone away to school and Harry was completely alone, without so much as a letter. Tentatively, Harry sat down, and Ginny returned to her book. Many minutes were spent like this, though not entirely in silence. The radio was tuned to a muggle station, with help from Hermione’s tinkering, and old jazz was softly humming from the speakers. Dishes of desserts had been left on the table from the livelier part of that night that no one had bothered to put away. A few cookies and tarts had been left amongst the crumbs on most trays, and a lightly scented candle burned in the centre of the table.

Although normally fiery, in the soft candlelight Ginny’s hair became dark, the colour of garnet, almost too perfect. The light washed her skin free of blemishes and left only pale skin and a smattering of freckles across her nose, which wrinkled in concentration as she read. She was truly mesmerizing to Harry. Her chest slowly rose and fell, although her breathing was silent when the music played. 

“Do you want to dance?” Harry asked. 

Ginny looked up. “Dance?”

“Yes. Dance. Here.”

She looked incredulous as he grasped her smooth hand and pulled her up. She quickly dog-eared the page of her book she had been reading. He placed his hand on the gentle curve of her waist and pulled her in close. She gingerly wrapped her arm around his shoulder just as the old song faded into a slower, new one. The sound of violins poured from the radio and abruptly turned into roaring trumpets. A male crooner’s voice began singing of fall and leaves, and it seemed too appropriate for the snow falling outside, covering the window and trapping them in the burrow. They spun slowly in the living room, barely avoiding the table, and nearly knocking the large lamp in the corner over. They danced clumsily, neither quite knowing how, and neither were embarrassed. They did not look at each other; Ginny was too short to see his face from the small distance between them. Harry’s heart did not beat faster. It did not soar or stop beating. It felt to him, as though he was alive for the first time since they had broken up. He could feel his stomach twist and his throat tighten, and his heart, although beating slowly, beat with new hope that had not been felt since long before the war. The song came to an end and faded into another. Ginny pulled herself away, and sat down. She reclaimed her book, although began a new habit of chewing her lips. 

Harry regained his seat and leaned into the couch. He longed to be near her again, to touch her once more, but she was once again engrossed in her book. The radio played a familiar, bittersweet song. The lyrics recalled Harry’s very situation. She was truly under his skin. Lost in thought, Harry didn’t notice Ginny looking at him from across the room, with tired eyes on the verge of closing. 

“You’re a shit dancer.” She said to him, a mocking statement with no mocking in her voice.

Harry chuckled. “Yeah,” He agreed with no argument. “I really am.” 

They fell into silence again. Harry wanted to scream, but she didn’t want to talk. He watched as Ginny scrubbed her face with her hands and brushed her incredibly crimson hair from her face once more. 

“Well I don’t know about you, but I’m headed to bed.” She said. She stood up and walked past Harry. He grabbed her arm before she could leave.

“Yes?” she asked after a moment’s pause. 

“I miss you.” He spoke quietly, in the voice of a man who was truly tired, down to his bones. 

When she replied, it was as if she had been practicing since the funeral. “Why didn’t you try to get me back?” she asked, and blushed furiously in the candlelight. 

“You didn’t want to see me. I figured you blamed me.” It was not needed to vocalize what he thought he was being blamed for. 

All she could do was shake her head and bite her bottom lip. 

She turned to leave again, but he grabbed her arm once more. “Can we talk please?” 

She sat next to him finally, and listened to him. The snow continued to pile on the windows around them, and the candle burned lower. He began to tell her the stories he had withheld from his quest to find horcruxes. He told her about Ron and Hermione, and how painful it was to see them together when he couldn’t have her. He told her about listening to the radio with Ron, hearing the list of casualties and every day hoping that he didn’t hear her name. He told her about worrying himself until he was nauseous over her, had she found someone else, had she gone missing, had she died? 

She listened, and she listened, and she listened, and then she told him. She told him about the summer after the wedding, after he had left, and how she’d cried. She told him about the death eaters, and the torture, and the pain. She told him about the room of requirement. Caring for the younger students and spending many nights sleepless, worrying. 

He listened, and he listened, and when she was done, the snow had covered the glass of the old window and they were alone. Piano trills wafted across the air to their couch, and her head fell on his chest. He had the desire to call her darling, love, baby, to tell her he loved her, to tell her everything he had said, and everything he wished he had said when they were dating. All he ended up saying was, “I never really gave up on you.”

She picked her head from his chest and looked at him, truly, for the first time since they had broken up. Softly, he held her cheek, and traced her freckles with his thumb. Slowly and self-consciously, Harry leaned his mouth closer to hers. It had been more than a year since either of them had kissed each other. The same soft piano music drifted around them as he once again acquainted himself with her ample lower lip, and her smell, that around this time could be described as nothing but soft. Her whole body was soft. Harry’s hands glided easily over her cheek and straight garnet hair, and onto her warm pyjamas, down to her thigh. He broke away, and they both understood that was enough for the night. Had they kept going, they would have opened painful scars, relived memories for which they were not ready. 

Harry guided himself into a reclined position, stretching himself on the couch. Ginny soon followed, on her stomach, nestled between his legs, with her head on his chest and legs bent upwards behind her. Harry fished his hands across her back and while the radio softly played music from a different time, they drifted off to sleep. The snow continued to fall quieting the outside world, and isolating the lovers into a world that was entirely their own.

The thing about growing up in a cupboard truly puts one’s life into perspective. You are merely a small, annoying speck, who has somehow managed to find some happiness in the girl lying on your chest.


End file.
